Bad Bunny and J Balvin Reignite Bromance Onstage After Feud Fallout

Mia Reynolds, 12/23/2025Bad Bunny and J Balvin reunite onstage in Mexico City, signaling reconciliation after past tensions. Their heartfelt embrace and shared words highlight the power of connection and vulnerability in music. Fans celebrated the moment as a reminder that unity and growth are possible even after conflicts.

That was exactly the tenor inside the packed arena as Bad Bunny and J Balvin, two heavyweights who’ve done more for Latin music in the 2020s than most care to admit, surprised the world with a reunion that nobody saw coming. In a pop landscape that thrives on announcements, leaks, and meticulously choreographed rollouts, this was... well, just a moment. The kind of moment that never quite fits into a press release or a TikTok teaser.

For those keeping score: yes, there had been rumbles—loud rumbles—about sour feelings and pointed lyrics over the last couple of years. Feud is such a flat word for the jumble of hurt, pride, and longing that can churn between two people who once sounded like family on a record. There’s a lyric on Bad Bunny's 2023 “Nadie Sabe Lo Que Va a Pasar Mañana,” tucked into “Thunder y Lightning,” that seemed to draw a line in the sand: “You’ve seen me, I’m always hanging with the same people. While you’re friends with everyone like Balvin.” That one landed with all the subtlety of a thrown brick, even if served up with rhythm.

Balvin didn’t respond with vitriol. Instead, on Instagram Live, he sounded more puzzled than anything, pressing gently at the bruise: “The person I know is a great person. We supported each other mutually, we made history, we also created a new story within music. I don’t understand what was going through his head but, well, the guy I know is a good person.” The quiet hurt, the unsaid parts—those lingered.

It’s funny how public perceptions spiral. For months, speculation ping-ponged between fanbases, music outlets churned out retrospectives, and playlists felt a little emptier with the prospect of no more “Oasis”—that 2019 collaboration album that seemed to distill summers into sound. But, as often happens, the story was still unfolding. Fast forward to December and Bad Bunny’s show—suddenly, there’s Balvin at center stage. No fireworks, no countdown clock. Just two men who, in that instant, looked surprisingly vulnerable beneath the lights.

“People don’t know, but we had a conversation a few weeks ago,” Bad Bunny admitted, his words both steady and unguarded, a little crack in the armor. “But we were waiting for the perfect moment to share the stage, and it’s good that it was here in Mexico.” For a venue that can hold tens of thousands, the room suddenly felt about as big as a kitchen table, family drama and all.

Their interaction—an embrace that spoke more than anything either could say on a microphone—underscored something rarely seen in front of so many eyes: actual reconciliation. “And now, brother, we are two men standing tall, representing Latinos wherever we go, and I wish you the best,” Balvin’s voice echoed, warmth rising as if he was shaking off an old coat and feeling lighter for it. Bad Bunny—Benito, to those who love him—didn’t dodge the sentiment: “You know the feeling is mutual. I respect you a lot. I love you a lot.” It’s the sort of thing that still feels almost radical in music, or maybe just life in general.

This isn’t the first time the duo’s chemistry drew crowds. Their tracks—think “Sensualidad,” or the infectious “I Like It” (which, with Cardi B, practically soundtracked the summer of 2018)—were more than just bangers. They were celebrations of creative kinship, windows into what trust and collaboration could sound like at their peak. Sure, “Oasis” topped charts and scooped up more awards than most can keep up with, but its power lay in how genuinely fun it all sounded. The idea that this partnership could fracture, however temporarily, seemed almost like a plot twist cribbed from a telenovela.

The next day, Balvin posted a photo—no filters, just the two back in each other’s orbit, the backstage curtain a bit of an afterthought. “Time accommodates what the ego disorganizes. Today, I don’t write from noise; I write from calmness. Not everything that separates is war, sometimes it’s growth. And growing is also knowing how to return [with] no hard feelings, no masks, no fear.” That’s how he put it, in Spanish, but the sentiment needs no translation. In 2025, when “beef” sells and apologies often trend for all the wrong reasons, letting peace be the story is a headline of its own.

If the artists felt relief, the fans certainly did. Social media just about combusted—video clips swirled showing people openly weeping in the stands, screens lighting up with reactions more heartfelt than jaded. “Not me sobbing in the nosebleeds,” one TikTok user captioned, “I grew up listening to Oasis in my mom’s car. This feels like closure for a whole era.” Another, less poetic yet no less sincere, simply wrote, “This is what the world needs right now—Latino kings showing love and moving forward.” Calls for unity, rarely more than hashtags or faint hopes, sounded a little more grounded for once.

It was fitting, somehow, that all this happened in Mexico—a country long at the crossroads of global music, as much a character in this story as the artists themselves. The energy inside that arena wasn’t just typical pre-holiday excitement. Something in the air shifted, as if the whole city was breathing out after holding it in.

Of course, it’s tempting to tie everything into a neat bow: two stars make up, put out a new single, the machine turns on again. But the truth is messier. Reconciliation doesn’t snap into place like a beat drop. Sometimes it’s tentative, sometimes euphoric. It’s hardly ever perfect, but it’s usually honest.

There’s a lesson tucked inside all this, and it’s not just for musicians. In an industry where bravado is currency and softness is often mistaken for weakness, what these two artists modeled was something quietly defiant. Admitting to old wounds—and then, publicly, patching them up—requires a courage greater than most verses demand.

Funny thing about music: at its best, it pulls people closer, whether it’s on stage or out in the cheap seats. Bad Bunny and J Balvin didn’t just close a chapter in their own saga—they handed everyone watching a reminder that connection, even after detours, is still possible. Maybe that’s the real headliner.

Mexico City, December 21st—sometimes a night just buzzes with that peculiar electricity, the kind that creeps into your bones before the main act even steps onstage. Holiday lights twinkle outside, streams of revelers move like rivers through the city, and the air seems to press in with possibility. It’s not a stretch to say that concerts now serve as our campfires, spaces to gather, detach from daylight’s troubles, and maybe—just maybe—witness a little history.That was exactly the tenor inside the packed arena as Bad Bunny and J Balvin, two heavyweights who’ve done more for Latin music in the 2020s than most care to admit, surprised the world with a reunion that nobody saw coming. In a pop landscape that thrives on announcements, leaks, and meticulously choreographed rollouts, this was... well, just a moment. The kind of moment that never quite fits into a press release or a TikTok teaser.For those keeping score: yes, there had been rumbles—loud rumbles—about sour feelings and pointed lyrics over the last couple of years. Feud is such a flat word for the jumble of hurt, pride, and longing that can churn between two people who once sounded like family on a record. There’s a lyric on Bad Bunny's 2023 “Nadie Sabe Lo Que Va a Pasar Mañana,” tucked into “Thunder y Lightning,” that seemed to draw a line in the sand: “You’ve seen me, I’m always hanging with the same people. While you’re friends with everyone like Balvin.” That one landed with all the subtlety of a thrown brick, even if served up with rhythm.Balvin didn’t respond with vitriol. Instead, on Instagram Live, he sounded more puzzled than anything, pressing gently at the bruise: “The person I know is a great person. We supported each other mutually, we made history, we also created a new story within music. I don’t understand what was going through his head but, well, the guy I know is a good person.” The quiet hurt, the unsaid parts—those lingered.It’s funny how public perceptions spiral. For months, speculation ping-ponged between fanbases, music outlets churned out retrospectives, and playlists felt a little emptier with the prospect of no more “Oasis”—that 2019 collaboration album that seemed to distill summers into sound. But, as often happens, the story was still unfolding. Fast forward to December and Bad Bunny’s show—suddenly, there’s Balvin at center stage. No fireworks, no countdown clock. Just two men who, in that instant, looked surprisingly vulnerable beneath the lights.“People don’t know, but we had a conversation a few weeks ago,” Bad Bunny admitted, his words both steady and unguarded, a little crack in the armor. “But we were waiting for the perfect moment to share the stage, and it’s good that it was here in Mexico.” For a venue that can hold tens of thousands, the room suddenly felt about as big as a kitchen table, family drama and all.Their interaction—an embrace that spoke more than anything either could say on a microphone—underscored something rarely seen in front of so many eyes: actual reconciliation. “And now, brother, we are two men standing tall, representing Latinos wherever we go, and I wish you the best,” Balvin’s voice echoed, warmth rising as if he was shaking off an old coat and feeling lighter for it. Bad Bunny—Benito, to those who love him—didn’t dodge the sentiment: “You know the feeling is mutual. I respect you a lot. I love you a lot.” It’s the sort of thing that still feels almost radical in music, or maybe just life in general.This isn’t the first time the duo’s chemistry drew crowds. Their tracks—think “Sensualidad,” or the infectious “I Like It” (which, with Cardi B, practically soundtracked the summer of 2018)—were more than just bangers. They were celebrations of creative kinship, windows into what trust and collaboration could sound like at their peak. Sure, “Oasis” topped charts and scooped up more awards than most can keep up with, but its power lay in how genuinely fun it all sounded. The idea that this partnership could fracture, however temporarily, seemed almost like a plot twist cribbed from a telenovela.The next day, Balvin posted a photo—no filters, just the two back in each other’s orbit, the backstage curtain a bit of an afterthought. “Time accommodates what the ego disorganizes. Today, I don’t write from noise; I write from calmness. Not everything that separates is war, sometimes it’s growth. And growing is also knowing how to return [with] no hard feelings, no masks, no fear.” That’s how he put it, in Spanish, but the sentiment needs no translation. In 2025, when “beef” sells and apologies often trend for all the wrong reasons, letting peace be the story is a headline of its own.If the artists felt relief, the fans certainly did. Social media just about combusted—video clips swirled showing people openly weeping in the stands, screens lighting up with reactions more heartfelt than jaded. “Not me sobbing in the nosebleeds,” one TikTok user captioned, “I grew up listening to Oasis in my mom’s car. This feels like closure for a whole era.” Another, less poetic yet no less sincere, simply wrote, “This is what the world needs right now—Latino kings showing love and moving forward.” Calls for unity, rarely more than hashtags or faint hopes, sounded a little more grounded for once.It was fitting, somehow, that all this happened in Mexico—a country long at the crossroads of global music, as much a character in this story as the artists themselves. The energy inside that arena wasn’t just typical pre-holiday excitement. Something in the air shifted, as if the whole city was breathing out after holding it in.Of course, it’s tempting to tie everything into a neat bow: two stars make up, put out a new single, the machine turns on again. But the truth is messier. Reconciliation doesn’t snap into place like a beat drop. Sometimes it’s tentative, sometimes euphoric. It’s hardly ever perfect, but it’s usually honest.There’s a lesson tucked inside all this, and it’s not just for musicians. In an industry where bravado is currency and softness is often mistaken for weakness, what these two artists modeled was something quietly defiant. Admitting to old wounds—and then, publicly, patching them up—requires a courage greater than most verses demand.Funny thing about music: at its best, it pulls people closer, whether it’s on stage or out in the cheap seats. Bad Bunny and J Balvin didn’t just close a chapter in their own saga—they handed everyone watching a reminder that connection, even after detours, is still possible. Maybe that’s the real headliner.